


Getting Along

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Cooking, Diapers, Infantilism, Little!Hamilton, Mama!Eliza, Non-Sexual Age Play, Other, Pacifiers, Papa!Jefferson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9919046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jefferson and Eliza learn to get along.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For the prompt "You can't sleep in my bed, asshole." 
> 
> This is based in the Hamiltots 'verse by schnugglebug here on AO3. If there are any character inaccuracies, let me know!

It had been Angelica’s idea, of course.

 

Because she was just full of good ideas, of course.

 

“You two have to learn to get along. I don't love the guy either, but Alex does, and that's what matters.” She told her sister while reorganizing a few books on a shelf.

 

“Even if I wanted to, we still have all the kids around the house.”

 

“Just leave that to me.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Eliza was far from used to the quiet. It had been a very, very long time since the house had been anywhere close to empty. That day was different. There were only two people in the house, and neither of them were children. At least not yet. 

 

The scheduling had been an odd process that was mostly done by Angelica. She was lucky in that she was owed a few favors, so it wasn't too hard to convince the others to do it. It was decided that Friday night the kids would all go over to Angelica's and that they would stay until Sunday night. That was more than enough time for some ground-work bonding. By 6 o’clock the kids were out of the house, and the Hamiltons’ doorbell rang at 6:05. Eliza wasn't sure why he bothered, since Jefferson let himself in a moment later.

 

“Hello, Mr. Jefferson.” She greeted him as he shrugged off his coat and hung it on the rack near the door. He nodded to her before speaking. “Thomas will do.” And she figured it would and so no point in arguing it anyway. “Then Eliza will do as well.” She countered, to which he nodded again as he slipped off his shoes and set them by the door. It was odd seeing just his, her's, and he's assuming Hamilton’s shoes is that third pair, sitting there. On the rare occasion he visited, there was usually a mountain of shoes by the door. He looked back up and the eye contact he shared with Eliza was awkward and short. “So, where's Hamilton?” Jefferson asked, looking to ease the tension. “In his study, finishing some things from work. He said he'd be done by dinner.” They both knew that 'finishing some things from work’ meant that Hamilton was just using the spare time to get himself ready. He'd been little around both of them before, but this was… important.

 

The two headed into the kitchen, where a pot was on the stove and some ingredients were set on the counter. Nothing too fancy. Macaroni and cheese, baked chicken, and green beans was the plan. The water for the noodles was boiling and the chicken was already in the oven. “I could help?” Jefferson offered, not wanting to be completely useless. Eliza tossed him a critical look and sympathetic smile. “No, of course not. You're our guest.” She answered. He raised an eyebrow and walked over anyway. “It's mac and cheese. Pretty sure I can manage it.” And he could. He was no chef, but he could certainly cook. Eliza didn't know that, but she relinquished the box of noodles anyway and nodded. 

 

As Jefferson set to pouring the noodles into the boiling water, she made her way over to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine. Nothing fancy. And so long as Hamilton wasn't little yet, they could enjoy a small drink just to ease the nerves. Without asking the man if he even wanted any, she took down two wine glasses and poured a small helping into each one. She walked back over and set Jefferson's glass on the counter, close to the stove, while she took a sip from her's and leaned back against the counter. He looked over when the glass was set down and hesitated for just a moment before taking the glass and then a sip in the same way Eliza had. He could control himself. He'd be fine. “A watched pot never boils.” She told him as he resolutely stared at the noodles. Jefferson nodded and stepped back to lean against the counter across from Eliza. He crossed his arms and they mirrored one another. After a few brief moments of silence, he spoke up. “How has he been eating?” He asked. She hummed and a corner of her mouth pulled back slightly in a less than content expression. “He's getting better with it, but he's definitely still underweight. All of his bottles have had supplements.” 

 

Absentmindedly, Jefferson stirred the noodles with a wooden spoon. “Yeah,” he said, “I've been doing that, too. But he's still stressing himself sick and that isn't helping much.” He ended his sentence with another drink of wine. Eliza bent down, opened a cabinet, pulled out a colander, and set it on the counter before acknowledging the man’s response. “Well, hopefully this weekend will help with that. At least a bit.” Boy, did she wish for that. Seeing Hamilton in such a bad state (though phenomenally better than where he was just a few months ago) hurt her. She just wanted what was best for her husband, her  _ friend. _ He'd always be both to her. 

 

“Hopefully.” 

 

Eliza knew Jefferson cared. She knew he cared so much it hurt sometimes.

 

“I'll grab the milk and butter.” 

 

She did that and noted they were low on both. There was already a bowl for the mac and cheese sitting near the colander. Once the noodles were done, Jefferson grabbed both it and the colander and took them over to the sink. He poured the elbow noodles into the colander and let the hot water drain. When that was done, he poured the noodles into the bowl on the counter next to Eliza and grabbed the milk. Reading the directions first (because mac and cheese wasn't something he didn't have a lot and he'd rather not fuck it up), he then measured the milk out in the nearby measuring cup and poured it into the noodles. Next was the butter, simple enough. Then came the cheese. He checked the box, but the packet wasn't there. God damn it. Right as he was about to mention it, Eliza reached past him and poured the cheese into the mix. She had been one step ahead of him. Jefferson said nothing of it, grabbed the wooden spoon again, and started stirring. 

 

While he was busy stirring and adding extra touches of milk and butter as needed, Eliza was taking the chicken out of the oven and setting it on the counter. Then she opened the can of green beans, dumped them in a bowl, and stuck it in the microwave. Once she had the microwave on and the beans heating up, she quietly left the kitchen and headed towards Hamilton's study. She made sure to knock before entering so she didn't startle Hamilton from whatever it was he was doing. Once the door was open and she could see her husband, she sighed. He was furiously typing away on his computer as she could practically watch his mind move at a hundred miles per hour. Hamilton barely spared a glance up before re-focusing. 

 

“Dinner’s about to be ready, Alexander.”

 

“Five minutes.”

 

She knew five minutes could be an hour. 

 

“You've been writing for hours. C'mon, Thomas is waiting.” She told him.

 

He hesitated a bit, obviously tempted. She noticed and raised an eyebrow as he continued typing. “Give Mr. Jefferson my sincerest apologies.” He said. Hamilton’s typing was noticeably slower. Eliza hummed before speaking next. “He made mac and cheese.” She baited. Hamilton hesitated once more, the bait working. “Did he?” He tried his hardest to sound disinterested. It didn't work. She nodded and smiled. “Yep. He's really excited to spend the weekend with you. Us.” She added. His resolve was weakening. No longer typing and instead focusing on his wife, he nodded. “I'm glad.” That was all he said. Sighing again, Eliza tested the waters. “He’ll probably feed you himself if you're good.” Magic words. He perked right up, making his temptation known. “Let's go, Alexander.” She said once more, holding her hand out to him. 

 

Hamilton glanced at his computer screen one more time before nodding. He rolled back in his chair, stood, and took Eliza’s hand. They walked together to the kitchen, where Jefferson had evidently been able to find the silverware and plates; the table was set. He had taken the green beans out of the microwave as well and put away the wine glasses. 

 

Eliza was grateful as hell.

 

They sat with Hamilton in the middle, of course. For a short while Hamilton fed himself slowly and carefully. 

 

Then Jefferson felt a weight against his shoulder, looked down, and met Alex’s pleading eyes. He couldn't help a chuckle as he kissed the boy's forehead. Alex whined and pushed his plate in his papa’s direction. The man took the hint and stabbed some green beans onto the fork before holding them in front of his baby boy's face. Alex took the food off the fork without protest. It went on like that for a while. Every so often Alex would lean against Eliza instead and scoot his plate her way. She gave in and fed him, too. In all honesty, she was delighted to do so. Watching Alex eat like a baby bird (minus the pre-chewing) was as adorable as always. And he ate quite a bit! All his mac and cheese, most of his green beans, and about half his chicken. By the time he got all that down he was full. 

 

Jefferson and Eliza were both immensely proud of him, letting him know through kisses and cooing. Alex huffed and squirmed in his chair, ready to be out of the kitchen. Obligingly Jefferson scooped him up into his arms and carried him into the living room where he was set on the floor. Eliza came in after a few moments with a diaper and supplies. Of course. Alex laid back and before he had the chance to slip his thumb into his mouth, his papa was sliding his paci past his lips. He hummed to show his appreciation and sucked happily at the comfort object as he was diapered. A quick glance at the wall clock told Eliza it was a bit past seven. Jefferson saw where she was looking. 

 

“So, will we both be sleeping with Alex tonight or--”

 

“You are not sleeping in my bed, asshole.” 

  
Even she had limits.


End file.
